


A Pale Horse

by xbedhead



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Absaroka County Bromance, Absaroka County's OTP, Angst, Gen, Mangst, Mentions of Death, True Love, man!pain, mentions of Cady Longmire, mentions of Dina Many Camps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbedhead/pseuds/xbedhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." (Rev. 6:8)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pale Horse

“I shoulda gone for the Indian.”

“If I had a dollar...”

Henry smiled broadly and pulled the wine bottle away from Martha’s glass. “No need to be petty, Walt. You cannot help it if your wife has good taste.”

Walt returned the grin half-heartedly and drained the last of his fourth Ranier. “Yet, here I sit.”

“Momentary lapse of judgment?” Henry mused, giving Martha a practiced wink.

She laid her tiny hand across Walt’s and gave it a squeeze, her simple silver wedding band catching the glint from the exposed ceiling lights. “Best decision of my life,” she said softly, love in her eyes.

Walt sobered instantly and something passed between them – something heavy – Henry could see it, could feel the mood in the room shift.

“Bear,” she started, not turning from Walt.

For his part, Walt held her gaze and Henry watched him, took in the bounce of the muscle in his jaw. “Martha,” he whispered through clenched teeth, the single word as close to pleading as Walt would go.

“We have something to tell you.”

Henry didn’t hear the exact words, so much as catch their meaning - 

_Sickness. Pain._

_Death._

\- he was watching Walt stare at the table, graying bangs hanging low over his eyebrows. He’d needed a haircut for weeks but had begged off their bi-monthly trip to Harold’s Barber Shop this weekend. Now Henry knew why.

Walt stood abruptly and covered the distance to the front cabin door in four long strides. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Henry made no move to follow; his eyes were glued on the hardwood tabletop, the one he and Walt had labored over with a planer and through two saw blades. He was transfixed in the same stupor his best friend had been only moments earlier.

“We found out about two weeks ago. I’d been having pains in my chest, so we went to Cheyenne and they ran some tests.”

_Two weeks._

He’d been in Helena for most of that, meeting Dina halfway from her Boise pool tournament. They’d romped until his back hurt and he hadn’t once picked up the phone. 

“What are you going to do now?” he asked quietly, not trusting the strength of his words.

“Now?” Martha smiled and picked up her long-stemmed goblet – one in the matching pair she and Cady had painted at an art shop in Sheridan last summer. “Right now, I’m going to finish this wonderful wine you were thoughtful enough to bring and take a nice, long shower in my half-finished bathroom.”

“I will never understand how you can drink Moscatto,” he laughed. It was watery and thick in his throat and his smile was pained.

She reached for his hand and gave it the same gentle grasp she’d given her husband earlier. “I like my sweets.”

He finally had the strength to look up at her. “How long?”

“They _said_ it’s terminal, but…” She licked her lips and lifted one of her shoulders. “We wanna try.”

Henry nodded in earnest, his full eyes spilling over. _Of course._

“They’ve referred me to an office in Denver. They’ve had some success with a stronger chemo regimen. But Henry?”

“Yes?” His voice was shaking; _he_ was shaking.

“Walt and I…I thought maybe a blessing might…”

This time he found the words. “Of course. I will talk to Miriam White Eagle first thing in the morning. Now, if you would like,” he offered, already moving to stand.

“It’s okay,” she smiled, using her grip to keep him seated. “I should make it through the night.”

Henry’s face fell and Martha gave him a tight smile. “I’m sorry. Walt doesn’t appreciate my gallows humor either.”

He glanced toward the front door, could barely see the sheriff’s broad silhouette through the curtained glass pane. There was no moon and the porch was drenched in darkness.

“I worry about him.”

Henry refocused on Martha, the gentle hand that had turned to a white-knuckled grasp around his thick fingers. “I worry and I…I don’t know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. When I – “ she sniffed, pulling her hand away to wipe her eyes, “I try to talk to him about it and he won’t…” 

She looked up at him, tears streaking freely down her beautiful face. “You know him.”

Henry could only nod. He _did_ know Walt – as best as anyone could. At this point, he could imagine, it was a lost cause, but he wasn’t going to say that to Martha. “Have you told Cady?”

“ _No_ ,” she sighed, leaning back in her chair, her slumped posture betraying how tired she truly was. “No, and I have no idea how.”

“She should be here,” he chided gently.

Martha nodded and laid a hand over her eyes, rubbing at the fragile lids Henry now noticed were a deeper purple than normal. “She’s in the middle of a big case and…”

“ _Martha_.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath and sat up, pulling her hand away and pasting on a smile. “I know. You were the first step. She’s next.”

The silence in the kitchen was broken by the harsh sound of aluminum being crushed and Henry watched as the little light left in Martha’s eyes died.

At that, he stood, preparing himself to confront his oldest friend – when Martha stepped between him and the door. 

“Don’t be hard on him,” she said, her voice strong and her gaze clear again. She put a calming hand on his chest and smiled haltingly. “He’s already hard enough on himself.”

He had no idea what to do, so he simply wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her small frame with a new sense of appreciation – one that made him memorize every detail of how she felt against him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, her words muffled against his beaded leather vest.

He held on, his chin resting on top of her head. 

_How long until that thick auburn hair was falling out, gone entirely? He needed to call Miriam, assemble the elders._

“For what?”

She squeezed him a little tighter and pulled back, giving him a tear-filled but genuine smile. “For being here. For making this easier than it should be.”

The hiss of compressed air escaping and the snap of a can being opened pulled him away. He kissed her cheek and walked to the front door with purpose; she turned to the sink and opened the tap.

The night air was cool and he could feel the remnants of moisture drying on his cheeks. He closed the front door behind him and felt like he had stepped from a haven into a vacuum.

Walt stood to his left, beer dangling between his right index finger and thumb as he stared into the night sky, the shadows of the Bighorn Mountains blocking the blanket of stars. Coyotes yipped in concert, sounding not unlike the children playing one of their hunting games in his cousin Brandon’s yard on the Res.

“Walt.”

He switched his beer to his left hand and gripped the front porch banister, giving it a few harsh tugs. “That ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Walt.”

He took a long swallow and scuffed his boot against the floorboard of the porch, stumbling a little then righting himself. “Shoulda used pine. Too late now,” he mumbled.

“ _Walter_.”

His head snapped up, his jaw slackened now that the six-pack had taken full effect.

“You cannot lose yourself while you still have her.”

“Not a convenient time?” he spat, his dull eyes instantly sharp.

Henry returned a level gaze, letting it set for a moment. “You know what I mean.”

Walt suddenly launched the half-full can into the yard with a side-armed sling and sucked in a quick breath. “You want me to wait til after?” he hissed.

He turned and faced Henry fully, his chest nearly heaving with pent-up emotion. Henry could make out the tremble to his form in the residual light from the house and his heart softened with the memory of Martha’s words.

He took a breath and said quietly, “Do not go back into the house like this.”

Something in Walt must’ve burst because he deflated, all the air and fire escaping him in a silent rush. He started to say something, but stopped himself, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He was the first to look away, reaching for his hat he’d hung on the back of the rocking chair. He crammed it onto his head, clearing his throat before a strained rasp escaped. 

“I won’t.”

He turned on his heel and walked to the end of the porch, made the short hop to the ground and stalked off into the blackness.

Henry watched him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then until he could no longer see the retreating back. Martha was washing dishes – he could hear the plates and silverware clashing in the sink – and he contemplated taking over but thought better of it. 

He had a phone call to make.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was unbeta'd and done in a very short period. Thoughts and criticisms welcome.
> 
> I'm reading the books now and there is very little mention of Martha Longmire. She seems to have had a profound impact on many of the characters - or at least her death did - so I thought it fitting to try to give some life to her character. I hope I did her justice.


End file.
